Over the River and Through the Woods
by Autumn's Joy
Summary: Fraser and Thatcher are given an assignment to catch a fugitive on the loose in the Canadian wilds. Winter camping, going under cover, and fighting bad guys put these two in some pretty interesting situations. My first fic. Please be nice.
1. Chapter 1: A New Assignment

"Canadian Consulate, Constable Turnbull speaking. How may I help you?" The incessantly happy blond Mountie answered the phone as he always did, with a pleasant smile on his face, as if the speaker on the other end of the phone was physically present in the room. "Of course, sir, I'll put you through to her right away."

Turnbull hummed to himself as he pressed the button on to put his superior's superiors in Ottawa on hold, and then the button that put him through to Inspector Thatcher. He didn't let her impatient "What is it, Constable?" phase him. "Phone call from Ottawa, sir, they say it's important. Would you like to take it now, or shall I inform them that you are busy and will return their phone call?"

Inspector Thatcher didn't really feel like dealing with political BS today. It was her job, and she was good at it, but sometimes she missed being out in the field with one goal: maintain the law. With a sigh, she told Turnbull "Go ahead and put them through." _They will go away faster if I deal with it right away,_ she thought to herself.

"Thatcher speaking." she said as soon as she heard the click indicating Turnbull had followed her instruction.

"Inspector, this is Superintendent Ronald Billingsley with the Special Interests Division. It has come to our attention that your tenure at the consulate in Chicago has not been entirely diplomatic in nature as was your original assignment. Your actions and those of your subordinates were not at all what we would have expected from someone with your strong diplomatic record." Inspector Thatcher bristled at what she expected to be at least a slap on the wrist, if more lasting action was not to be taken. Why had she allowed one of her subordinates to involve himself in matters which were of no concern to the Canadian Consulate in Chicago, or the Canadian government in general? She had no good explanation for Constable Fraser's infuriating, paperwork-generating actions, which were centered around his belief that if you see a good deed that needs to be done and is within your ability, there is no reason you should not do it. Now how to explain that to the stuffed shirt on the other end of the line…

"Sir, let me explain." Inspector Thatcher sat back in her chair for what she expected to be a long and unpleasant conversation. "The involvement of Consulate personnel in the business of the Chicago Police Department is never part of official RCMP duties. Neither is it detrimental to the RCMP or the Canadian Government. Specifically, Constable Fraser's, ah, activities, have benefitted Chicago citizens greatly. As a result the RCMP has received quite a bit of positive publicity. I have allowed these activities to continue for this very reason. I'm sure you are well aware…" Thatcher was interrupted before she could finish defending her management of the consulate.

"Inspector, I don't believe you understand. This call is not to reprimand you, but to commend you. We haven't received as much positive publicity from south of the border in many years, and it's you and your personnel who are responsible for it."

"Thank you, Superintendent." Inspector Thatcher was pleasantly surprised by this observation. In her experience, higher ups in the RCMP were only interested in two things: gaining a promotion, and making themselves look good on paper. She was even beginning to see this in herself, and she didn't like it.

"We have not only been impressed with your management of consular affairs, but also in your adept transition between diplomatic activities and field work."

"Field work, Sir?"

"Yes, Inspector. Your involvement in stopping terrorists intent on unleashing a nuclear meltdown on Chicago has been noted, as has your continued efforts to keep these men behind bars, with the so-called help of the United States FBI. There was also an amusing incident involving small-time kidnappers, eggs, and one Henri Cloutier, I believe, that while not as spectacular as your previously mentioned efforts, were nonetheless examples of your skills both in field work, diplomacy, and ethics. In short, the reports that I have personally read have convinced me that you are the right man for the job, er, I mean woman."

"What job, sir?" Inspector Thatcher overlooked the Superintendent's gender mistake. She had encountered it many times before and took it as a compliment that she was seen as an RCMP Inspector first and a woman second.

"We have a convict that will be transferred in seven days from a maximum security prison in 100 km outside of Ottawa to a smaller facility farther north. This prisoner has been a model inmate for the last 3 years, and to those uninvolved with his particular case, is an excellent candidate for rehabilitation in a less secure facility. However, those of us who worked to bring him in know him to be quite duplicitous. The charge we were able to convict him of was only the tip of the iceberg. He has done unspeakable things, and he needs to be kept behind bars. I can do nothing within the law to keep this man in maximum security for the remainder of this sentence. The only thing I can do it to make sure he is offered absolutely no means of escape during his transfer. I want our best officers monitoring his every move."

"Superintendent, do I understand that you want me to be a babysitter for a convict?" Inspector Thatcher had never been quite so insulted.

"I guess you could put it in those terms, Inspector," Billingsley said with a bit of a laugh in his voice. "You were always one to put things in the least flattering light. However, I would prefer you to think of this assignment as a challenge in quick thinking, flexibility, and exercising your skills to their fullest ability. Because, mark my word, Inspector, James Endicott WILL attempt to escape. We just don't know when or how." He paused, then continued. "Oh, Inspector, it's not just your presence that is required. You will need to select a partner, someone who you have worked with previously, and whose skills complement your own. Of course, the choice is yours, but I may suggest the constable you worked with on the terrorist case would be an excellent choice. Fraser, I believe, was his name."

"Yes, Superintendent, Constable Benton Fraser. And I agree with your choice. While Constable Fraser, being honest almost to a fault, is not adept in diplomacy or intrigue, his observation and tracking skills are second to none in both urban and natural environments. From your description of this project, I suspect that Constable Fraser's skills will be much more valuable to this project than my own." Inspector Thatcher found herself praising Fraser more than she would have ever said to his face. In fact, she more often than not took him to task for getting into the situations that developed these skills and kept them sharp. Spending a week with him would be a challenge to her patience as his superior officer.

"Will you need substitute personnel at the consulate while you will be away?" Billingsley asked.

Inspector Thatcher thought for a moment. She wanted to decline, saying that her staff was perfectly capable of handling the extended absence of their superior officer, but the consulate staff consisted of only herself and Constables Fraser and Turnbull. The thought of Turnbull in charge of the consulate for longer than an afternoon was enough to make her shudder. "Yes. I will need someone to oversee basic consular affairs as two thirds of the consulate personnel will be involved in this effort. Our remaining Constable, while more than adequate in a support position, is not, ah, adept at making the kind of decisions for any situation that may arise in my absence.

Billingsley smiled as he heard Thatcher's description. "Ah, I understand the type, young, energetic, eager to serve, but without a diplomatic cell in his brain," replied the Superintendent. His description of Turnbull was almost too accurate. "Very good then. I will have my secretary send you the travel paperwork for yourself and Constable Fraser. Your temporary replacement will arrive in tomorrow evening."

Inspector Thatcher hung up the phone then picked the receiver back up and dialed Fraser's office number. As soon as he picked up, she said, "Constable, I need to see you in my office. Now." She hung up with no explanation.


	2. Chapter 2: Devil in the Details

Two days later, Inspector Thatcher and Constable Fraser flew to Ottawa to get additional details on this assignment. Fraser carried all his gear in one standard issue RCMP backpack. Inspector Thatcher had an identical backpack, with an additional matching baby blue suitcase and a carry-on. They checked into the hotel, dropped off their things, and met in the lobby. Together they hailed a cab and rode to the RCMP headquarters to meet with Superintendent Billingsley.

"Fraser, did you read over the paperwork Billingsley sent?"

"Of course, sir," Fraser said with his usual unreadable demeanor.

"What are your thoughts on the matter?" Inspector prompted him. She wanted to make sure there would be no embarrassing surprises during the meeting.

"I expect it to be challenging, and I hope I am up to the task."

"What?" Thatcher said incredulously. She couldn't believe Fraser saw this babysitting job as more than an assignment that was passed on to them because nobody in Ottawa wanted it. "This assignment is Ottawa making fun of us. Just another hand slap for doing our job right in the first place, you with your father's murderer and me with Cloutier."

"Actually sir, I agree with Superintendent Billingsley. There is much that could go wrong a transfer of this type, especially if the subject in question has lulled his handlers into a sense of complacency. In the Persimmon Maximum Security Prison, he would have had access to the most devious criminal minds of this generation with nothing better to do that plan an escape. The transfer will not be simply driving an armored buss from one facility to another. The most direct roads to Talusk Correctional Facility have been washed out by the summer rains, so everything that goes in or out must either travel by rail or plane. That puts security out of our hands for the majority of the trip. I looked up Endicott's file, and he spent a short period of time with the Canadian Special Forces before he was dishonorably discharged for inappropriate behavior, and then as a hunting guide in the Yukon. I would expect him to be rather comfortable with forestry and winter survival, although not to the extent of even a mediocre Inuit tracker. My guess is that he will wait until his transport is just past the wash-out, and then attempt his escape. If he has someone on the outside to provide him with gear, that will only make his chances of survival greater."

Once again, Inspector Thatcher had underestimated her subordinate. She had been so miffed that she was assigned a babysitting job that was far below the rank she worked so hard to earn that she hadn't researched it thoroughly. That, and she was busy completing paperwork for one Fraser's latest exploits. How did he manage to get himself involved in a war between strip clubs? That report took significant time to write so that it didn't seem that one of her subordinates was inappropriately frequenting strip clubs while in uniform. She hated having to defend the same actions she had taken him to task for.

They rode in silence the rest of the way to the Superintendent Billingsley's building for their afternoon meeting. Billingsley quickly addressed the same issues Fraser had already mentioned on the taxi ride. Then he dropped the bomb. "We don't actually want you to prevent his escape. We want you to encourage it."

"What?!" Inspector Thatcher was incredulous. Apparently this wasn't any old babysitting job, but babysitting job that would most likely look bad on her record. Very bad.

"Inspector, we have reason to believe that Endicott is part of an espionage ring that completes their information exchange somewhere in the Northwest Territories. If he is successful in this escape, he will most likely head directly for his associates in this illicit venture. One of his cell mates, Ullyses Martin, has just been granted parole, and has been observed purchasing gear for an extended venture into the northern wilds. We have another team watching him, and his parole officer has been included in the plan. Constable Lee, who is normally quite strict in his duties, has taken to his role of absent-mined parole officer with quite a flourish. Constable Lee has Martin convinced that he believes all Martin's winter gear purchases are props for a community theater production of "Franklin and the Beaufort Sea". Lee has even requested a pair of tickets.

"Lee has been making his weekly check-ins at predictable times, instead of random as it should be. That should make Martin secure enough that he has a week's time to drop off Endicott's gear and get back to his apartment before Lee calls again. Lee will make a check-up call two nights before Endicott's transfer. That should give Martin plenty of time to get to the specified drop off point. After that you will be able to track him to his meet-up."

Fraser, who up until this point had been standing still and silent, stepped forward. "One question, if I may, Superintendent. How do you know that Martin isn't planning to join Endicott in his illegal activities?"

"Astute question, Constable. First of all, Martin has only purchased one set of gear. Secondly," Billingsley pulled a picture out of a manila folder on his desk, "Can you see this man traveling on foot through the wildernesses?"

Fraser stepped forward took the picture. He glanced at it and handed it to Inspector Thatcher. The picture showed an extremely rotund man eating a powdered sugar covered jelly donut. This was definitely not a man who would quickly undertake a backwoods trek without good reason.

Fraser nodded in agreement. Then another thought occurred to him. "Would it not make sense to follow Martin when he drops off Endicott's gear, and wait at the drop off point until Endicott arrives there?"

"An interesting idea Constable. I like it." Billingsley nodded in approval. He picked up his desk phone and dialed his assistant's number "Corporal Harvey, plans have changed. We will need a bush plane available on transfer day. Also, we will need another team to keep an eye on Endicott during transport….Yes, same plan, allow for the escape, minimize collateral damage...No, it doesn't matter who the second team is. I just want to have eyes on him at all times…Yes, that is all. Dismissed."

Billingsley hung up the phone and turned back to the two Mounties in his office. "I'll have Lee follow Martin and relay the drop off location back here. You two still have quite a bit to do to prepare for this pursuit." He picked up several overstuffed file folders off his desk and handed the stack to Fraser. He stacked several more on top until Fraser could barely see over the top of the stack. "These are our files on the suspected espionage ring. They are of a particularly sensitive nature, and can't leave the building. You will also need to visit Outfitting and get appropriate gear."

Inspector Thatcher still had one more question that needed to be answered. "Superintendent, my I be blunt?"

"Of course, Inspector." He was expecting this.

"Why me? The reason you gave me before I left Chicago was my combination of diplomatic skills and recent successful field work. However, this assignment doesn't seem to require any diplomatic skills at all, and my reports show plainly that the primary officer on each of the efforts you mentioned was Constable Fraser. My role in these events was secondary. It seems that it would have been preferable to assign Constable Fraser to this task and find him a partner with similar skills."

Billingsley nodded once to consider her question. "I could pull rank and tell you that this is your assignment, which you will accept and complete to the best of your ability."

Inspector had noticed the corners of his mouth had turned up in a smile. "But you won't."

"Why not, Inspector?"

"Because you are still hiding something. Something that is critical to the mission, and something that may influence our actions, tilting the balance between success and failure."

"Right on two out of three accounts. Yes, I am hiding something, but not something critical to _this_ mission, and this knowledge will most likely influence your actions quite a bit. I can't reveal the details at this time, but part of your assignment here is to learn. You have been identified as a candidate for a new RCMP/CSIS exchange program. Your record shows that you are close to the ideal candidate, but the CSIS relies more on field work than diplomacy. We believe that with a few more assignments involving heavy field work, you will be ready to pursue this opportunity. Constable Fraser has proven himself over and over to be the kind of field officer that the Force needs more of, and we would like you to observe his work closely."

"So choosing Fraser as my partner was not really up to me at all?"

"No, Inspector. It was simply fortuitous that you agreed." The superintendent recalled a conversation he had the previous month with his hunting buddy. Buck Frobisher didn't say why, but he seemed to think that Thatcher would be easily led into accepting Fraser as a partner and teacher, despite their difference in rank. Billingsley was glad that despite the different paths their careers had taken them, he and Buck had stayed close.

"Understood." Inspector Thatcher did not like the fact that she had been played. Although, had Fraser not been picked by her superiors, she still would have selected him for a partner. His vast range of knowledge and skills in the most unexpected of subjects had come in handy more than a few times. He was loyal, and she could trust him both to obey orders, and to know when to break them. And if she was being completely honest with herself, the thought of spending some time alone with him in the middle of the wilderness was both exhilarating and frightening. She wanted to get to know him more, but if things got too intense between them, they could always hide behind their roles in this mission, just like they had hidden behind their roles as superior and subordinate. Yes, this was going to be an interesting assignment.


	3. Chapter 3: Interesting Botanical Effects

Two distinct seasons are visible in a valley untouched by human settlement. A thick blanket of snow already covers the mountains. The only color on the white peaks is the blacks and greys of the steepest rock faces where the snow cannot settle. Below the tree line, evergreens dot the white landscape, and if one looks closely the thin skeletons of deciduous trees shade the blanket of snow with area of grey. Lower still, the ground is only snow covered in the north and east facing slopes. In the valley, autumn still hangs on by a thread. Leaves from the aspens still cling to their branches, some tumbling over the ground, driven by the wind. A dusting of freshly fallen snow provides both a threat and a promise of the months to come.

The sound of a twin engine plane breaks the silence of the valley. It flies low and turns just in time to land into the wind on an almost invisible airstrip. Two figures wearing red tunics, baggy pants, tall boots and Stetsons jump out of the plane. They grab fully loaded packs, run off the airstrip, and watch as their plane returns to the air. They look around, and conclude simultaneously the direction that their subject has taken. They head into the woods which are cloaked under a dusting of freshly fallen snow. Aside from their footprints, there is no evidence that anyone has been there at all.

Inspector Thatcher looked around and took in the mountains, the forest, and the creek flowing by the barely visible path. "Isn't this refreshing, Constable? It's good to be away from the desk and back in the field. I could get used to this." She took a deep breath and smiled. The fresh air almost made her forget her annoyance that the correctional system decided to move the transport ahead two days without informing the RCMP. They were now two days behind Endicott, but if anyone could do make up the time, Fraser could. She only hoped that her presence didn't slow him down.

"Yes, sir, it is." Fraser bent down to inspect something on the ground, paused in thought, then walked over to the other side of the clearing. He looked down at the creek, putting his fingers into the water and smelling the water that clung to them. "I believe he spent the night here two nights ago, and left early yesterday morning, possibly following the creek.

"Yes, the remnants of a fire with just last night's dusting of snow do suggest that. The trail seems to end here. He must have walked in the creek counting on that to erase his trail." Inspector Thatcher contributed, putting her training and intuition to use. It had been a long time since she had needed these particular skills, and it was comforting to know that they hadn't been lost completely.

"My thoughts exactly, sir. What do we know of our subject's knowledge of the forestry of the Northwest Territories and this area in particular?"

"He is well versed in survival techniques as part of training with the special forces. We believe him to be familiar with this area as well, which is supported by the fact that we seem to be tracking him in a straight line towards some unidentified goal instead of running aimlessly in the wilderness." Thatcher replies. She looks at the creek. "Upstream or down?"

"Up." Fraser replies without a hint of hesitation.

"Why are you so sure?"

"The water, sir. It has a slightly human smell to it. If he had gone downstream, his smell would have dissipated by now, but the flowing waters are continually replenishing it. Of course it could be that there is just a village upstream within a day's journey or so, and that is what I smell, but I also detect a hint of," He dips his fingers back into water for another sniff. "Fine chocolate. It's highly doubtful that an Inuit village would have a supply of such an unimportant food stuff. Our fugitive, on the other hand, has just escaped from prison where he has been denied life's little luxuries for quite some time. I would expect that he has taken liberty to bring a small stash of his favorite things along on this journey." Fraser examines a plant growing by the side of the creek. "And we should be able to catch up to him sooner than we had previously expected."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because of the leaves missing from the Kinachoot bush. Kinachoot leaves are often consumed as a relaxation aid, so we also know that he is…"

"That he is nervous that someone will be following him," Inspector Thatcher interrupted. She continued, "but he was secure enough that he had dropped his tail to let his guard down and take measures to calm said nerves."

"Fortunately for us, he is unaware of the changes to the properties of the Kinachoot plant as the season progresses."

"Changes, Constable?"

"Yes, sir. As the end of fall approaches, the sap of the Kinachoot plant returns to the roots to be conserved for the following spring, leaving only trace amounts of psychoaltering substance in the leaves. Usually a few leaves is enough to produce the desired calming effect, but at this point in the season it will take about ten times that amount to produce any effect in an average sized human. One can conclude by the quantity of leaves missing that when his usual dosage had no effect, he continued to partake until he reached his desired level of relaxation."

"So?"

"The leaves also have a mild laxative affect that is not diminished by the absence of sap. Our friend will have suffered from, um, intestinal distress beginning approximately 12 hours after consuming the quantity of leaves missing from this bush. Nothing serious, but highly unpleasant."

"Ah." She smiled at the thought of their subject's discomfort.

"Well, shall we?" Fraser motioned upstream. "We should also begin to look for a place to camp tonight as soon as we find his trail. It shouldn't be long. I can't see anyone choosing to slog through nearly frozen water for long under the effects of the kinachoot plant."


	4. Chapter 4: One Tent

"Here it is, Inspector, Endicott's campsite last night. His trail leads off towards the west. Shall we camp here or continue our pursuit?"

"Let's camp here. No use exhausting ourselves. And there is a supply of fresh water already on hand. Would you prefer to prepare dinner or pitch the tents?"

"Tent, not tents, sir."

"Excuse me, Constable?"

"Well, sir, it seems that when Constable Pelletier assembled our packs, he must have determined that there was no reason to carry two tents as we would already have to carry food for five days. He was after all, instructed to pack light and for winter camping. A single waterproof tent with extra insulation is preferable in these conditions to two lighter tents."

"I guess that makes some amount of sense," The inspector replied grudgingly.

"It will make more sense when we don't wake up cold in the morning."

"Fine I'll pitch the tent. What sort of nourishment did Constable Pelletier pack for us?"

"Looks like lots of beef jerky, some dried fish, dehydrated fruits and vegetables and pemmican. I think I can throw something together. The weather and wood supply are such that we can have a hot meal tonight without giving away our location."

As Inspector Thatcher pitched the tent and set out the sleeping bags, she stole several covert glances at Fraser as he was bent over the beginnings of a cooking fire, always diverting her glance just before he looked in her direction. She stood up from tying down the last of the guy wires, took a step toward the tent, and almost tripped over one of the packs she had yet to stow in the tent. She turned around to find Fraser not even half a meter from her. She froze, startled at his close presence. He leaned around her, reached into a bag, and, smiling, pulled out a cooking pot. Not saying a word, he nodded and headed back to the fire. The inspector took a deep calming breath. He always had this effect on her. Especially after the incident on the train. 'Focus on the mission, Meg,' she thought to herself, "only the mission."

As the sun sank, Thatcher and Fraser ate their dinner. Thatcher lifted a spoon full of stew to her mouth, expecting it to be the barely edible but nutritious trail food she had eaten on other field assignments. She was quite surprised at the lightly spicy flavor of the broth and the tender but not over cooked bits of vegetables and meat. The quality of the dish was on par with some of her favorite restaurants in Toronto. She knew that Turnbull had a knack for baking, but she never knew that Fraser had quite a talent in culinary endeavors. She looked up at Fraser and asked "Where did you find the vegetables for this stew? They are unfamiliar, but quite good."

"This time of year produces some of the most delicious, yet not commonly known foodstuffs, especially in the wetlands surrounding northern creeks like this one. The fibrous roots of the kinachoot plant we spotted earlier compliment the beef rather well. Almost as well as moose."

"Kinachoot? The psychoactive one?" Thatcher was appalled that Fraser would subject her to anything that could affect her mental acuity while they were in pursuit of a fugitive.

"Yes, sir. But boiling them in a stew has two advantageous effects. The first is to soften them enough so they are acceptable for human consumption. The other is to nullify the psychoactive substances."

"Ah, well. The stew is… satisfactory. Thank you, Constable," she said as she finished her bowl of soup, and had another.

When the dishes were done and the fire was banked, they both turned toward the tent. They nearly ran into each other going through the tent flap. They looked up and their eyes met. Fraser looked away first.

"I'll just, um, go for a short walk."

"All right, Constable."

After Fraser had left, the Inspector closed the tent, turned on a small lantern and began to get ready for bed. Fraser, who had returned to get his toothbrush, looked at the image cast on the tent wall of his superior officer pulling her shirt over her head. He watched for a moment, then shook his head as if to clear it. But clearing such images from his mind was not as easy as a simple head shake. He let his mind wander back to watching her pitch the tent. There had been plenty of opportunities to observe his superior officer from various angles. He had tried to resist taking advantage of opportunities she had unwittingly provided, but he was ashamed to admit to himself that he had not been successful.

He walked back away from the tent without his toothbrush.

When he returned, the inspector was already in her sleeping bag, laid head to foot with his own. Their packs were tucked into the outside edges of the tent, as is standard layout taught in the Academy for the most efficient use of tent space. Fraser entered the tent and closed the flap behind him. Thatcher was turned away from his bag apparently already asleep. Fraser undressed down to his RCMP issue red long johns, crawled into his sleeping bag, and with a quiet "Goodnight, Inspector," fell asleep.

Or at least tried too. He can still smell Thatcher's shampoo over the pleasant aroma of her. He could almost feel her presence so close to him. It was quite some time before he could fall asleep, as memories of that train ride played through his mind.

Thatcher, for her part, was also awake trying to banish thoughts that have no place between two members of the RCMP working closely together, much less officer and subordinate. After far too long, she heard Fraser's breathing steady into that of deep sleep, and she, too, could rest.


	5. Chapter 5: Snow and a Mountain Lion

When Fraser woke up the next morning, long before sunrise, Thatcher was already awake and dressed, the fire was going and breakfast is cooking.

"Good morning, Fraser. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you." Fraser replies. "You?"

"Quite well."

They ate, broke camp, and packed the bags in relative silence. As the sun begins to rise, two forms, dressed in red serge, left the creek and followed a path only they could detect across the mountain pass.

On the other side of the mountain they left the forest and looked around to see a long expanse of white. Snow had not fallen since the man they are pursuing had passed, so it was fairly easy to spot his tracks. However, it began to snow in earnest just after they broke for lunch.

"Damn! This snow is going to slow us down a bit. Going to make tracking harder, too." Thatcher said to no one in particular.

"Not really, Inspector." Fraser replied, as he walked over to examine the moss growing on a tree trunk.

"Care to explain?" Thatcher asks incredulously. As she turned toward him her dark brown hair bounced up then settled back on her shoulders. She thought to herself that one of these days, she was going to have to cut it all off.

"Well, this turn in the weather will affect our fugitive, too, and as he is alone, he will not be able to compensate as easily as we will. He will have to stop earlier to make his preparations for the night and ensure his survival until morning. This should reduce our total time to apprehension by about 23.5%."

"And the tracking?"

"Not a problem."

"Why not? With fresh snow, we can't see his tracks."

"True, but tracking is only necessary if you don't already know where your subject is going. That pass over there is the only way out of this valley other than the way we came in, and I see a small bipedal figure ascending the most commonly used path. It is a several hours by foot across the valley without snow shoes. Fortunately we have snow shoes, and, judging by his tracks in the snow, he does not. We should be across the valley in about a half an hour." Fraser finished his speech and stood at attention waiting for his Inspector's next instruction.

"Well?" Thatcher looked at him as if he had grown a second head, or at least had ceased to use the one he had been given.

"Yes?"

"Let's get moving."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't call me that while we are out here, please."

"Yes, Inspector."

"That either. I would think that outside of official channels you could at least call me by my given name."

"We _are_ on official business, sir…I mean…" Fraser hunts for what he should call his superior officer.

"Meg. Just call me Meg," she said with an exasperated tone.

"Ok…, Meg…" Fraser tried her name out and liked the sound of it. As he started cutting trail, Meg fell in behind him, a small smile at the corners of her mouth at the sound of her given name. She could get used to this.

They reach the other side of the valley quickly, and begin to climb. Soon it became obvious that Meg was not used to such rigorous climbing with a full pack and at altitude. Fraser told Meg to rest a bit as he condensed the packs. They would have to leave much of their stuff here to be picked up on the way back.

"Of course I won't rest. I'm just as capable as you are." Meg said, preparing to stand. She was awfully tired, but she didn't get this far in her career by giving in to fatigue.

"It's not a sign of weakness to listen to your body and give it what it needs. I'm used to traveling like this. When I was a boy in Tuktoyuktuk, we often went out on treks like this one for which we were purposefully unprepared physically and mentally so that we would understand our personal limit so as never to cross it. There was one instance I specifically remember regarding a granite boulder and mustard…"

"Enough, Fraser."

"Understood. Furthermore, I have previously lived at this altitude for several years so my body can acclimate to it much more quickly than someone who has never spent significant time here. Luckily, our fugitive will be experiencing the same altitude problem you are." As Fraser began to sort the pack items into what to keep and what to leave, Meg got an analytical look on her face. She stood up, looked around, and began to walk in circles away from Fraser, as if looking for something.

"I'm almost finished. Do you smell something odd?" He looks up. "Meg?..."

"Don't move, Fraser." At the sound of Meg's voice, Fraser looked up in to see her crouched behind a rock. The gun in her hand was aimed and ready, safety off. Fraser turned to see what held her attention and met the brown eyes of a mountain lion ready to pounce. Fraser kicked the smaller pack toward the mountain lion hoping that the big cat would go for the easy meal of beef jerky. The cat pounced on the pack, giving Fraser the time he needed to get out of the way. As Fraser ran to take cover with Meg behind the rock, Meg took a deep breath to steady herself. The mountain came into sharp focus as the rest of the world became blurry and ceased to matter. She squeezed off a single shot. The cat fell as the sound of Meg's shot ricocheted through the mountains, a bullet hole through its eye.

Fraser walked over to the dead can and ran his hands over the still warm fur. "Why did you kill him? He is a Northern Red Mountain Lion, a beautiful hunter known for speed and persistence." Fraser says. Then it dawns on him. "Well, since his speed and persistence _were_ intended for us, I can see no real reason to be upset. Still it's a shame to waste such a beautiful pelt. I know many an Inuit villager who would give..."

"We don't have time, Fraser." Meg said with exasperation.

"Yes, Inspe… Meg."

"Did he get anything important, or can we continue on this pursuit?"

Fraser looked through the packs, threw out some items that have been clawed beyond recognition, and repacked the rest. "Nothing that will require us to abandon the pursuit of the fugitive." And they continue on.

At the top of the mountain they finally got a look at what awaited them on the other side. More snow. Lots more snow. Meg looked disgusted and glanced over at Fraser, whose expression shows his delight in the situation.

"What!?" Meg looked at Fraser as though he was close to insanity, and quite likely about to jump to the other side. "Are you _happy_ about this?"

"Of course! We can sleep in comfort tonight. There is enough snow for an igloo!"

"A what?" Fraser opened his mouth to explain the concept of an igloo. "Oh, never mind, I know what an igloo is. Are you telling me you can build a full sized igloo before sunset?"

"We no, not really. A true igloo is built to withstand any winter storm that the Territories can throw at it, keep an even temperature of around 0 degrees Celcius when external temperatures reach -40, has an entrance designed to prevent wind from entering, and is tall enough in the center for its creator to stand upright. That would take me several hours."

"Then why bring it up?"

"Because it will take me less than an hour to build a smaller, shorter igloo that will regulate temperatures of only -10 degrees C and windspeeds of up to 20 kilometers per hour. Less time if you would care to help." And he laid down his pack, pulled out a few tools, and began to dig. The snow he dug out, Meg made into bricks. Soon an igloo began to rise out of the snow. They worked together in silence, as two parts of the same machine. When the basic structure of the igloo was completed, they went inside to dig out ventilation holes and smooth the inside walls so that melting snow would run down the sides of the structure instead of forming rather unpleasant drips.

When the entire igloo had been smoothed, Meg and Fraser looked up at their work. "Beautiful," they said simultaneously and grinned at each other. In his own head Fraser said _Yes, Meg, you are._ But not out loud. Never out loud.

They hauled their reduced packs into the igloo, pulled out some beef jerky and ate in pleased silence. A handful of dried fruit completed their meal. "What I wouldn't give for some hot tea." Fraser said.

"Mmmm… that sounds delightful." Meg crawled out the igloo door and surveyed their surroundings. "No fire tonight, Fraser. There's no wind so a fire would alert anyone in the vicinity to our exact location. I guess we will just have to stay warm in our sleeping bags."

"Um, about that…" Meg hated when he got that tone in his voice, the one that said something unpleasant was about to be revealed.

"What? Tell me nothing happened to the sleeping bags."

"Nothing happened to the sleeping bags."

"Really?"

"No." Fraser ran his thumb along his left eyebrow. "The mountain lion got one of them. Torn to shreds." Fraser paused. "But the other is just fine. And these are RCMP standard issue bags," He paused again, then continued as if reading from the Field Manual, "Large enough to hold two officers should an emergency arise."

"_Two_ officers?" Meg asked. Then to herself she thought _He doesn't really expect me to… He does…. Oh, dear_. And she couldn't decide whether this was a good thing or a bad thing. But good or bad, she had to admit it was necessary in order to apprehend this fugitive, and the Mounties always do what is necessary, no matter how distasteful it may be.

"Distasteful, sir? Um, I mean, Meg." Oops. Did she say that last bit out loud? Apparently yes, she did.

"Yes, Fraser, distasteful. For reasons I'm sure you can't even imagine." She couldn't help a little bit of sarcasm and condescension creeping into her voice to cover her embarrassment.

Fraser gave her an intense stare. "Actually yes, Meg, I can imagine them just fine. But at the moment I'm trying not to. Trying with all the resources I have available to me, but it's not working." He inched closer to her.

"It's not?" She moved closer to him.

"No." He looked into her eyes with an intensity they shared only once before and leaned toward her. And then he kept going past her. He reached for the backpack and pulled out the tent. "And that is why I will sleep in my parka and boots with the canvas tent wrapped around me for additional warmth. It should be fine at least down to 0 degrees C, which the igloo should be able to regulate."

"Should?" Meg was still a little breathless.

"Yes. Goodnight, Inspector." And this time she didn't correct him.


	6. Chapter 6: Twenty Below

"Now what did you do that for?" Fraser Sr. appeared next to the canvas-wrapped Mountie.

Fraser gave his father a glare and whispered at the lowest tones possible, "I can't exactly talk right now." He more mouthed the words than actually spoke them.

"Oh, yes. Well. You can just listen, then. This man you are pursuing, he is not unfamiliar to me. To us. He is involved with someone you knew as a child. I'd even go so far as to say you respected this man. I don't want you to be unprepared when you apprehend him."

"Who is he?" Fraser formed the words but didn't even whisper them.

"I can't tell you that, Son. But I can tell you something about her." He tilted his head and indicated Meg. Fraser raised his eyebrows and indicated for his father to go on. "She needs you just as much as you need her."

Fraser sighed and shook his head. "I can't."

"Actually I was talking about the temperature tonight. It's supposed to drop to -20."

"Oh dear." Fraser glanced over at Meg in the sleeping bag.

"Think about it, Son." As Fraser looked back toward his father, Fraser Senior disappeared.

Meg woke up to the sound of someone shivering. It was pitch black and she couldn't see a thing. She reached over to grab her penlight she shone it all around the igloo and wasn't surprised to see Fraser wrapped up as tightly as possible in the canvas tent with just the top of his parka and boots sticking out either end.

"Fraser?" No response. "Fraser. Fraser!" Still no response. She inched over to him, still in her sleeping bag, and grabbed his head with both hands. "Fraser! Wake up!"

"What? Huh?" He woke up with a start and opened his eyes to see Meg's face filling up his whole field of view.

"You were shivering. Badly."

"Well, yes. It _is_ cold, and shivering is the body's method of increasing heat when its internal temperature falls below a predetermined level."

"I was… concerned about you… Hypothermia…" Her hands were warm on his face. The first bit of warmth he had felt in several hours.

"If something happened to you…"Meg paused and locked eyes with Fraser. But she let out a sigh, looked away, and spoke in her professional voice. "If something happened to you then we would be unable to continue the pursuit of this fugitive. I would have to turn back and get help. Our subject would escape. We need you to stay warm. Please join me in the sleeping bag. We will both be warmer, sleep better, and be more able to fulfill our duty to the RCMP."

"Is that an order?"

"No. It is a request. Please, Fraser, don't make this any more difficult than it is."

As quickly as he could while shivering uncontrollably, he undid the buttons of his parka, slipped off his outer garments and boots and slipped into the bag with Meg. It was a tight fit. Meg closed her eyes as Fraser's body slid against her own. He ended up facing her, almost nose to nose.

"I thought you said these bags were built to hold two officers?"

"Yes." Then to clarify, "Tightly."

"Very tightly."

"Yes."

"I see. Well, does the field manual say anything about how to actually fit two officers in a single bag, or does it leave that as an exercise for the reader?"

"No, not specifically, but we will fit more comfortably in the bag if we can reduce the perimeter of the cross section of our combined shapes."

"What?"

"If we lay facing the same direction, with you in front and your head slightly lower than mine, we will be able to fit fairly comfortably even in this limited space."

"You want to…snuggle." It was a statement, not a question. Meg tried to keep all the emotion off of her face and out of her voice. She almost succeeded.

_Yes, _Fraser's response came immediately into his head, but fortunately stopped there. "Well, it appears to be the only way." They squirmed in the bag until they had achieved the desired position. "There, that should be much better." In the privacy of his own mind he finished his thought. _Because I can feel your body along the length of mine. _

They squirmed a few more minutes, adjusting their positions until they each found something comfortable enough. Then Fraser sat up quickly, pulling a surprised Meg with him. He reached over and pulled his parka from the pile where left it, and spread it over the sleeping bag.

"We might as well use everything we can to conserve heat." He provided as an explanation.

_Not to worry, Fraser, there will be no lack of heat in this sleeping bag whether we desire it or not._ Meg thought to herself. They settled back down again and found comfortable positions. Every time Fraser made the slightest move, she felt it, and it sent a jolt through her body. No way was she falling asleep quickly. But Fraser was exhausted from his brush with hypothermia, and fell asleep quickly.

In his sleep Fraser's head tilted so that his face was buried in Meg's hair, and his arm found its way across her stomach. As morning approached, Fraser was the first to wake up. He took a deep breath of the scent of her hair. He knew this would end much sooner than he would have liked, but while circumstances forced them to be here, he would enjoy this closeness. He took another deep breath, inhaling the scent of her. Meg stirred, and Fraser started to pull his arm back from around her, but, still mostly asleep, she held on to his arm, hugging it close to her. If he had pulled it away, it would have woken her up, ending this time together.

A few minutes later, Fraser could not linger any longer. They had things do to, a fugitive to catch, and if they were going to be successful in their assignment, he could not dawdle to indulge feelings that should not even be acknowledged openly in the first place.

"Inspector." He said softly. No response. "Sir?... Meg, wake up. It's morning." He pulled his arm out from her grasp hoping that the motion would help rouse her. He propped himself up on his elbow and shook her lightly by the shoulder. Then he raised his voice and said with as little emotion as he could muster, "Inspector. Meg. It's time to get up. We have a mission to complete."

"Hmmmm?" she said as she slowly woke up and turned to look at who had spoken. When she realized it was Fraser, that he was with her in a sleeping bag and had been there for a large portion of the night, she scrambled out as quickly as she could. She grabbed the clothes closest to her and threw them on over her own thermal underwear.

"Sir, uh, Meg," he corrected himself, "I believe those are mine."

She looked down and realized that she had put on Fraser's uniform instead of her own.

"And if I may suggest, it could be preferable, although we _are_ on official business, to wear wilderness gear instead of red serge. We will be able to move more quickly, should the need arise, and, although I hate to criticize the uniform, it does not provide for any semblance of camouflage. It will also be more comfortable for the conditions at hand."

"I assume the mountain lion took care to spare a set of clothes for each of us?" she said with half a smile.

"Yes, actually he did." Fraser handed her a set of clothes and took one for himself. They looked at each other, and quickly turn their backs and put on their winter clothes. But Meg took one last look over her shoulder at the red-long-john-clad man behind her, then smiled and shook her head.


	7. Chapter 7: Ambushed and Stabbed, Sort Of

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, or anything relating to Due South.

A/N I really struggled with the action scenes. I'm not satisfied with them, but they are as good as they get for now.

"So, this is where we catch our man, Fraser," Meg said. It was almost a question.

They had spent the morning crossing more vast expanses of snow, spotting signs of their subject near any sort of shelter available: snowdrifts, rocks , even a few small copses of trees. Meg had been tiring from the altitude, so she waited with the packs while Fraser went on ahead to scout out the next large rock formation. He crept around their fatigued target silently as the man rested against a leeward rock face and proceeded to explore the rest of the area. This was a rather large rock formation, almost a small mountain, and would take at least a few hours to cross. Fraser had observed signs that indicated that their quarry intended to camp there. Fraser returned to Meg, and after a quick afternoon snack of dried fish and raisins, they took the long way around him. They made their own camp among the rocks in an area near the primary path, but far enough out of the way to be invisible to an approaching hiker.

As they set up camp, they were unaware of another pair of eyes watching. He looked down at two figures below, then at the high powered rifle by his side, and smiled evilly. He waited until he was sure they had not detected him, and then backtracked until he met up with his partner, resting against the rock face.

"All going as planned?" the gunman asked Endicott.

"Yeah, but that kinachoot plant's a bitch. Why doesn't anyone know the other effects of it?"

"Oh, we know them, we just didn't tell you. We needed the Mounties to almost catch you and start to feel complacent. Best if you just didn't know."

"Yeah, but I woulda packed more toilet paper."

"And they would have noticed it and realized that you were up to something."

"Or I could have just torn off the leaves but not eaten them."

"And then they would have either found the leaves or realized that you were not showing, um, signs of being under their, uh, influence." Paul Akuliq smirked at the idea of his partner suffering the laxative effects of the kinachoot plant.

Endicott punched the Akuliq in the shoulder weakly. "Not funny."

"Yeah, actually it is. I can't wait to tell Kat all about it. She will never let you live it down."

Endicott let it go because there really was nothing else he could do to force his partner to drop the subject. "So what is our plan, Paul? I am in no condition for a brainstorming session out here in this god-forsaken snow."

"Simple. We let them catch you, then I catch them."

"No way am I gonna let two idiots in red suits get their hands on me again."

"It's not like they are going to do anything to you. They're Mounties. You can pretend you sprained an ankle or something and they will wrap it with supplies from their own medical kit and then offer to carry your sorry ass back to civilization all the while cooking your food and pitching your tent."

"Or we could just shoot them and leave their bodies for the animals."

"That works too." Akuliq nods to his partner. "Let's do it."

The two men crept silently around to where Fraser and Meg have set up camp. When they got there, the realized that there was only one Mountie there where there were two before. "Where is the other one?" whispered Endicott.

"How should I know, idiot? Maybe he had to go take a whiz."

Just then, Fraser stepped out from behind a rock. "Or maybe he is standing right behind you. Please put down your weapon. You are under arrest."

"Um, no," Akuliq replied as he drew a weapon and fired on Fraser who quickly ducked back behind the rock at the first sight of the gun. At the sound of the bullet ricocheting off the rocks, Meg leapt up and began to scramble over the rocks to where the three men are fighting. She kicked the gun out of Akuliq's hands and it flew over a rock ledge and into a deep crevice. She turned back to the fight and pulled Endicott off Fraser's back just in time to see him pull a knife out of the growing spot of red seeping out of Fraser's side.

While she was distracted, Akuliq grabbed her, slammed her head into a rock and threw her unconscious body over a ledge and to the ground ten meters below.

The two partners looked at each other and grinned. "That was easier than I expected it to be," Akuliq said.

"Shall we finish them off?"

"No, let the elements take care of it. We have business to attend to."

When Meg came to, she was assaulted with the most vicious headache she had ever experienced. She tried to sit but her eyes blacked out from the pain. She decided that it would be wiser to rest a few more minutes. Then she remembered the fight and Fraser. She jumped up and, as fast as her battered body could carry her, climbed up to the place where the fight occurred. She saw Fraser lying on the ground, not moving. She raced over to him and knelt down to check his pulse.

"Fraser, are you ok?"

He popped up, startling Meg. "Oh yes, just fine."

"But, the…" she indicated his side where the pool red was slowly expanding. "You're…?" Meg was confused. She could see the blood on his parka, which was torn as if from a knife wound. In fact she had seen the man thrust the knife into Fraser, just before she was knocked out. "Care to explain, Constable?" She sat back on her heels, her back ramrod straight.

"Of course, Inspector."

"I thought I told…asked you not to call me that."

"Yes, well, as you had just addressed me in the more formal manner, I assumed that you had decided that it would be more appropriate that we return a purely professional…ah…" He was about to say relationship, but she held up her hand to stop him mid thought.

Then, to his surprise, she followed up with what he least expected. An apology. "I'm sorry, you're right. I did request to use a more casual form of address. While we are out in the field, Meg is acceptable and generally preferable."

"Understood."

Meg paused and then realized something. "I never asked you what you would prefer to be called."

Fraser didn't know exactly how to answer that one, so rubbed his eyebrow with his thumb and just started talking. "I, ah… You may address me in any way you prefer, depending on what you determine the situation warrants." He knew that giving up control cost her quite a bit, so he decided to offer various options. He sat up as he continued. "Most of my friends and work associates with the Chicago police department seem to prefer to use my surname, although you know Ray Vecchio tends to either mispronounce it or shorten my given name, to the diminutive 'Benny.' I doubt this is indicative of any feelings on his part of my inferiority and more likely the result of his Italian heritage. My Inuit friends often referred to me as Igvakuitivik which in Inuktitut means…"

"Fraser. You are babbling again."

"Oh. My apologies, Ins… Meg." Fraser was hoping that she hadn't picked up his tendency to babble when he was nervous. Of course, she had, as she was trained at the same Depot as he was to make detailed observations and draw appropriate conclusions.

"Your explanation, Fraser?" She indicated his bloody, ripped parka.

"It's timubu, si…Meg. I carry a pouch of a paste made from the crushed carcasses of the timob beetle. It is a traditional African treatment for headache and swelling and I have often found it useful when away from medical facilities. I have chosen to carry it in liquid form which, although more bulky, is more quickly administered and absorbed should the need arise." Meg made an impatient noise and gestured for him to continue. "When our assailant attempted to stab me, I barely parried his attack and he punctured my parka but missed anything of importance. I pretended to be stabbed and used the tip of his knife to puncture to bag of timubu and squeezed out the thick liquid, which to the untrained eye appears to be blood. I thought it might be a good idea for our assailants to make the assumption that I was injured to or dead. Given their identities, though, it is quite surprising that they fell for it."

"You have identified Endicott's associate?"

"Paul Akuliq is a tribal elder with an Inuit village, one that I spent several years a part of before my mother's death. His son was one of my closest friends. I am very sorry that we will have to bring him to justice."

Meg suddenly had a realization. "Did you say that red stuff is good for headaches?"

"Yes." Fraser was unable to see what timubu had to do with Akuliq 's identity.

"Well I could use some right now. My head is killing me where Paul Akuliq slammed me into the rock."

"You've sustained a head injury?"

"I guess you could call it that."

"Meg, head injuries are nothing to laugh at. Please let me see it." Now it was Fraser's turn to kneel beside her and examine the extent of her injury. She pushed the hood of her parka back and tilted her head forward sending daggers into her skull and making spots appear before her eyes. She could feel Fraser's fingers push her hair back so he could see. He gently probed around the base of her skull and along her neck. Fraser may have let his fingers linger just a moment longer than absolutely necessary but Meg couldn't quite tell for sure.

"There's quite a goose egg here and some minor lacerations, but nothing that appears serious. May I check for signs of concussion?" Meg nodded, then winced as any motions of her head caused a redoubling of her headache. But that was soon forgotten as Fraser moved around to face her and lifted her chin. He grabbed a penlight from his pocket, and shone it into her eyes to check for appropriate pupil response. He observed the appropriate responses and put the penlight away.

"Satisfied that I'm not going to keel over dead?"

"Yes, for now."

"Then can I have some of that headache stuff?"

"Of course, si…Meg." Fraser pulled a bag out of his parka pocket. It was empty. "Oh, dear."

"What?"

"I seemed to have expelled all of the timubu in an over exaggerated effort to appear dead. You only need to consume about a half teaspoon of it, but there isn't even that much left."

"Give me that," Meg said as she yanked the empty bag from Fraser's hands. She worked the bag and squeezed it until she got several drops of the stuff out, and wiped each of them on her tongue. Her headache started to recede almost immediately. But only slightly.

"That's not enough to do you much good. You need at least double that." He looked sadly down at his parka. "And this stuff stains, too. Hmmmm…" he said as if a light just came on. He wiped his fingers over the parka and squeezed the rip in the fabric. His fingers came back red. He held them out to Meg.

"You can't be serious? That's disgusting."

"Your choice," Fraser said with a shrug.

"Fine," she said, and she held out her hand for Fraser's. She took his hand in both of hers and started to lick the red liquid off his fingers.

"Oh heavens," she sighed and closed her eyes. "That feels amazing." Then she suddenly realized what she sounded like. "My head. My head feels amazing. The headache is gone."

"Of course, Meg."

"How long does this stuff last?"

"About three hours. Hopefully by that time any swelling will have also have abated so that the cause of the headache will be eliminated. But if you need another dose, you can take it directly from my parka." Fraser said with barely a hint of a smile.

Meg started to feel a blush rise, so she turned away. "Shall we head back to camp? No fire again for us tonight. We don't want to let them know that we are alive."

"Actually, I'd like to go hunting. Small game."

"Hunting? Why?" she sounded incredulous.

"If I can trap a rabbit or fox, or other small animal, I can use its blood, and possibly an article of torn clothing to simulate a predator mauling."

"Oh."

After two hours of tracking and hunting, Meg and Fraser caught two rabbits and dragged them around the sites where Fraser and Meg had been left. They made it appear as though a predator dragged the bodies to another location.

"That should satisfy our gentlemen should they come back to check on us," Meg said, tossing her dark brown hair over her shoulder. She was quite pleased with herself.

"Actually, it won't fool them should they suspect anything and look closely, but, should we give them no excuse to take a closer look, it should hold. Especially since dragging the bodies suggests that there is a predator den close by. Our friends will suddenly get a pressing desire to be elsewhere." Fraser smiled. He enjoyed a little innocent trickery every now and again.


	8. Chapter 8: Strategy Session

Disclaimer: Not my characters (what a shame) and I'm making no money from this.

Meg and Fraser, mindful of their recent injuries, headed back to their campsite slowly. Their luck held, and their "friends" had not taken the time to pick through their belongings. Their tent, food and packs were still where they had left them. Fraser held the tent flap for her and they both went inside, took off their snow covered boots at the door and sat down on the floor of the tent.

"Fraser, we need to have a strategy session." And immediately she regretted her words. "Not like that…I mean… What I… Oh forget it." Fraser rather enjoyed watching the color rise on her cheeks. It was nice to know that she remembered their, um… contact, as she had put it, on the hijacked train. But for her sake, he kept his face completely neutral.

He couldn't help playing with her a little and said seriously, "Yes, Meg. We need to discuss where we go from here." She looked up at him, surprised that he had broached the topic of their relationship, or lack thereof. This wasn't something they talked about. Danced around, yes, made quick forays into, yes, but never talked about. She was hoping to figure out his intentions from the expression on his face, but he was looking the other way. It wasn't like she could have read his face anyway.

"Where we go…from here?" she asked slowly, careful not to give anything away.

"Yes. I think tomorrow, assuming you are fully recovered from your injury, we should proceed to Kivilut. It was originally a small Inuit village, but in the last 30 years it has become quite a popular hunting destination, and the non-native population is growing rapidly." Fraser was back to business, but made note of Meg's subtle signs of relief that their relationship would not be discussed at the moment. "It's only an hour away from here once we leave the rocks. There we can inquire as to the whereabouts and recent activities of our two friends. With the help of the Kivilut people…"

Meg shook her head. "Fraser, don't you think there will likely be other members of the village in on the plot? If we barge in and announce ourselves, the best case is that nobody will give any us information, and the worst case is that they will actively try to finish the job that Akuliq and Endicott started. I'm afraid we will have to be somewhat…deceitful."

"Oh, dear." They both knew Fraser was not good at lying. The truth was so ingrained in who he was that any lie was written clearly on his face.

"Your past history with this village will have to be our cover." Meg was back in Inspector mode. Fraser could see her mind working faster than she could speak. "We can stick as closely to the truth as possible. We will say that you are coming back for a visit and to see old friends, which is technically true. Did Akuliq recognize you during the altercation?"

"I don't believe so. My father was transferred away from the village when I was no more than 6 years old, and I haven't been back since."

"Then we will simply not mention that you have joined the RCMP. You will be civilian going on a trip to rediscover a world you remember with fondness.

"And you will be?"

"I'll be Inspector Thatcher of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, here to deliver a message to the local outpost. We were to report there anyway to relay any information back to Ottawa. I'll just report to them as myself, provide such information as we have acquired, and receive a brief from them on the state of affairs in Kivilut ."

"Won't that seem a little odd to anyone with knowledge of our recent battle that two members of the RCMP, one male, one female, were disposed of the day before two visitors, one male civilian and one female RCMP officer appeared in the village? There are just not that many females in this type of work." Fraser was enjoying this little verbal battle with Meg. He rarely had someone he would put his wits up against who would not be offended when he proved a point, and one who could, and often did, prove him wrong. An evenly matched competition was always much more fun.

"Good point. I will present myself publicly as a male member of the Force."

"No." That came out faster than Fraser had intended.

"And why not?"

"There's no way you could pass for a man. Your, ah… facial features are too… well, they are too… delicate. And your…" he paused to think of the right words. "…form… is too…," he paused again. "Feminine." He hoped that his meaning had been conveyed without offending her.

"I see." Meg was pleased that he had noticed. It was all she could do to keep from grinning like a teenager whose crush had waved to her across the cafeteria.

"So we will either have to go in as ourselves, report to the RCMP outpost…" Fraser began.

Meg continued his thought, "And let our adversaries know that their plot to eliminate us has failed? Or we could…" She paused trying to think of another option and came up with nothing.

"…Enter as Inspector Thatcher and Benton Fraser, a civilian, but at different times and from different directions, so Endicott and Akuliq will not identify us as the two they supposedly killed…"Fraser was almost proud of his improvement on Meg's original idea until Meg shook her head.

"We would be out of communication for several days, during which time a change in circumstances may arise, thereby impacting, or possibly negating our entire plan of action. Good thought Fraser, but with no reliable communication during our separation or an explicable reason for association once we are reunited, we will use this plan as a last resort." _And I really don't want to be away from you any more than necessary_. She was enjoying spending time with him too much. Way too much.

"I could be the civilian Benton Fraser, and you could pose as my….uh…" Fraser searched for a cover for Meg.

"Your friend, Meg Thatcher."

Fraser was a bit confused. "Why on earth would I bring a friend on a trip like this?"

"Not friend, Fraser…._friend._" She put a very heavy emphasis on the last word commanding him with a look to understand what she meant.

His eyes widened as he understood. "Oh." Once more, kept all emotion hidden.

"Well, if you don't like that idea…" On the contrary, he liked it very much. Too much. There was no way he could become that "friendly" with his superior officer and not feel the repercussions for some time. When they made contact with the RCMP they would have to walk a very fine line. The romantic aspect of their supposed relationship would have to be convincing enough to the general population, but not so much that anyone at the RCMP outpost could question the propriety of their professional relationship.

Despite all the downsides, he had to admit that the idea held merit. "Actually, of all the ideas put forth at this point it time, it seems to be the one most likely to succeed. No suggestion of any association with the RCMP. No lapses in communication, and a plausible cover for being there in the first place. Only one problem, Meg."

"And that is?" Meg prompted.

"Two actually." Fraser absently mindedly rubbed his thumbnail along his eyebrow. "The first is that despite not having any supposed connection with the RCMP we will have to check in with them shortly after our arrival." He paused, thinking. "But I believe that can be solved by talking publicly about finding empty tents here and the appearance of a predator mauling. Hopefully someone will suggest making a report to the RCMP."

Meg was pleasantly surprised. "When did you acquire skills in subterfuge?"

"The Chicago Police Department does, in fact, excel in some areas, and I hate to pass up an opportunity to learn something."

Satisfied with Fraser's answer, Meg continued, "And the second problem is?"

"How we are to pull this off convincingly." He gestured at himself and Meg.

"This?"

"Yes. How are we going to convince the Kivilut people, who are a very affectionate group, that we have a close, and most likely amorous, relationship? So far our associations have been purely professional, and, except for one particular occasion, rather… stilted." He refrained from mentioning their time on the train, which, of all things, could not be described as stilted.

Meg was taken aback and somewhat offended. How dare someone question whether or not she had the skills to get the job done? And how dare he say that she was stilted. "What do you mean Fraser? Do you think that either of us lacks the capacity to behave in the appropriate manner required for this situation? "

"Of course not. We are both perfectly capable of putting on a mask to show others only that which we choose. The difficulty lies in determining ourselves the fact from the fiction, and allowing those determinations to be made without making those around us aware that the determination needed to be made in the first place." He was babbling again.

Meg dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand. "Well, that problem is easily solved."

"How?"

She rolled her eyes. "Proper preparation…" She prompted, starting the phrase that was ingrained into every recruit at the Depot as each new skill was learned. Fraser joined her to complete the maxim. "…prevents poor performance."

"Yes, I know that, but what does that have to do with… Oh." A light turned on in Fraser's mind.

"Yes, Fraser, we will have to get used to physical contact." She looked less than pleased. That was the only way she knew to control the other, very much inappropriate, feelings that the thought of being physically close to Fraser inspired. "Anything that we are expected to do in public will have to be rehearsed so that it looks natural."

"OK…," Fraser looked her in the eye and formally held out his hand and tried to pretend that they he was inviting her out on a date. "Meg would you care to…." Meg held up her hand to stop him, and shook her head. But then she put her hand in his. He surprised her by wrapping his fingers around her much smaller ones and giving them a small squeeze. She barely held back the sigh when he started to gently rub his thumb along her fingers.

This was getting to be too much. How could he make her feel like this just by holding hands. It was simply ridiculous. She needed a distraction so she kept talking. "Good, Fraser, that is very convincing. But you said yourself that the Kivilut people are affectionate. Our public behavior will have to appear to be that of a couple in love enough to drag each other to their childhood haunts. It shouldn't be too difficult after we slept together last night." Neither missed the double entendre in her words, but they both chose to ignore it.

"Um, well, then, maybe we should just skip the preliminaries and," Before he could finish, Meg interrupted him.

"Fraser!" She gave him a look that said that while she was willing to sleep with a fellow officer for the good of the mission, in no way was she willing to _sleep_ with him. She had to stamp down a little voice in the back of her mind that thought it might not be so bad.

Fraser was a bit taken aback. "You know that's not what I meant, sir."

"Then what _did_ you mean, Constable?" Meg said as if she was daring him to take advantage of this situation.

"I meant that maybe we should just skip the commonly observed public displays of affection and become comfortable with, um…" He paused, then took a deep breath to gather his courage. "This."

Meg was about to ask for clarification when her mouth was suddenly otherwise occupied. It was a quick kiss, and ended almost as soon as she realized what was happening, but not before a warmth started to spread through her body.

"Fraser, that was," She said almost breathlessly, "…acceptable." She managed to compose herself and put the Inspector Thatcher face and voice back on. "A few of those moments witnessed either by those directly involved in the plot or the worst of the town gossips and our cover will be sealed."

"Quite right, Sir." He was also relieved to hide back behind his Innocent Constable mask. Mostly. He was still feeling the remnants of that kiss, even though it was only a fraction of the kiss he wanted to give her. He couldn't help prodding her a little bit. "We have had a difficult day, Inspector. Let's go to bed."

He started taking off his outer parka, then his flannel shirt, then his lined jeans. When Meg realized what he was doing, she quickly turned around to face the tent wall instead of her subordinate. "Fraser, what are you doing?"

"Taking off my clothes. We barely fit in the sleeping bag in our long underwear. All this," he indicated the pile of his clothes on the ground, "would never fit. I assume you still want to combine resources to combat hypothermia? It will be colder tonight in the tent than it was in the igloo." Meg still looked a little shocked, so he added. "Our cover would never work if one of us succumbed to the elements." He crawled into the sleeping bag moved all the way over to one side to make room for her and waited.

After a few minutes, he heard her begin to move around. Then he heard soft thumps on the tent floor as her outer garments were shed rather forcefully. She crawled into the bag with him and zipped it up.

"This is only out of complete necessity, Fraser."

"Understood," he said. After working together for almost a year, he could tell when she was lying. He managed to keep the smile out of his voice, but he couldn't keep it off his face.


	9. Chapter 9: Kivilut

Disclaimer: I don't own them. (but they sometimes think they own me...)

A/N: After my sort-of Beta (aka husband) read over the first several chapters, he said I needed to work on descriptions and character development. So here is my first attempt at doing so. Makes for a much longer chapter, but hopefully not too wordy.

The next morning, they woke up as the sky was turning gray with the dawn. They packed up their gear, but left the tent standing. It wouldn't stand up to close scrutiny but to a passing observer it looked like an abandoned camp site. They put on their snow shoes and walked to the village in silence. After two hours of walking through the snow, Fraser stopped.

"Kivilut is in the next valley. Are you ready?"

"Of course. Are you?"

"Yes. Have you ever visited an Inuit village?"

"No."

"Then follow my lead. That should be consistent with our cover."

As they crossed the rise, Meg could see a village seem to rise out of the snow. Small wooden structures with steep roofs stood in lines along what must be streets during the summer but now were paths between snow drifts. A few larger buildings stood near the center of the town, one of which was flying the Canadian flag. Farther from the center, the small houses gave way to igloos. There was a small plume of smoke coming from most of the homes, buildings, and igloos.

Meg stopped and inhaled the scent of wood smoke and closed her eyes and let pleasant memories wash over her. "The smell of civilization, Fraser. We will eat a real meal tonight, and sleep where the temperature is above zero. I wonder if I can finagle a hot bath from whomever we end up staying with." She paused. "Where do we plan on staying, Fraser?"

"If we had come in as Mounties, we could stay at the outpost, but that would not be consistant with our cover."

"And now?"

"Um… we may just have to construct another igloo tonight." He caught a glimpse of Meg glaring at him. "I'm sorry, Meg, but I don't remember there being a hotel in this village, so we will just have to make do."

"Fine, Fraser." Meg started moving again towards the village.

They approached the town and headed to the largest building. They past a general store, a small school house, and, at last, the combination town hall and post office. Fraser held the wooden door for Meg and followed her into the entry. They stamped the snow off their boots, hung their parkas and gloves on the hooks provided, and looked at the two glass doors. One was dark and led to a large meeting hall. The other was helpfully labeled "Canada Post." Fraser opened this door for Meg and heard her sigh with relief as warmth finally surrounded her.

There were only a few people in the post office that early. One older woman was working behind the desk and slightly scruffy men engaged in an animated discussion in one corner of the small room. All three looked up as Meg and Fraser walked in.

"Good morning, ma'am, gentlemen. I'm…" Fraser paused as Meg jabbed him in the ribs as she heard the start of his usual introduction that would completely blow their cover. "…Benton Fraser. My parents and I lived here for three years when I was a boy, and I thought I'd like to revisit some old memories." He wasn't sure how to introduce Meg. When he glanced in her direction, she was looking up at him. The look of simple adoration on her face gave him an idea on how to continue. He put his arm possessively around her and pulled her to his side.

"My Meg here wanted to know all about my past and was intrigued by my stories of the North, so I'm taking her around to some of my favorite places," Fraser said as he smiled lovingly down at Meg.

The men looked at him like he had grown a second head. "Why would you bring a woman out here with winter coming in? She looks like she would never survive more than a night outside of a nice hotel." Meg did her best not to bristle at the man's condescending words.

Fraser didn't have to lie to answer. "Winter in the North holds its fondest memories for me. I remember one time when I was caught out in a blizzard in Reliance Pass and to survive I had to…" Meg squeezed his hand.

"Ben," Fraser had to struggle not to startle at his name, "We don't need to bore these people with your entire history. Not everyone loves hearing your stories as much as I do." Meg spoke softly, with more gentleness than he had previously thought her capable of.

Fraser continued, "We've been igloo camping several days. Hiked in from the airstrip at Vettison," He hated to throw in even this little lie, but mentioning a different and more widely used airstrip north of where they actually picked up Endicott's trail strengthened their cover. He was relieved to be able to return quickly to the truth. "Any woman I plan to marry must share my love of the out-of-doors, especially in the winter. Meg has survived everything I've thrown at her with flying colors, even a close encounter with some unidentified predator last night." The men's eyes lit up with this potentially interesting piece of news. The woman behind the desk didn't seem to care as she went back to her task.

"Whadya see out there, Mr. Fraser?"

"Oh, call me Ben, please. We ran into," _or out of_ he corrected in his mind, "an abandoned tent out by The Rocks and saw some evidence of bodies being dragged through the snow. We were going to camp in the shelter of those rocks last night, but Meg didn't want to chance that animal coming back. She insisted we continue on and camp in the next valley. Strong stuff she's made of." Fraser gave her little squeeze around her shoulders. Meg beamed as her "friend" bragged on her. "I guess we should make a report to the authorities. Does the RCMP still have an outpost here? Things have changed so much since I lived here."

"Sure," The other man replied. "Turn left out the door, and it's the second building on the right."

"Thank you, kindly." Fraser said and smiled at the two men.

On their way out Meg spoke softly to Fraser, but loud enough that the people in the office could still hear. "Ben, do you think there is somewhere we could get a hot meal, or at least provisions to cook something other than trail food?"

"I don't know, Meg, let's see if these gentlemen can direct us to the general store." Fraser turned to ask, but the woman behind the counter spoke before he could say a word."

"Why don't you two come have lunch with me. I've got fixin's for grilled moose and cheese sandwiches and some tomato soup going on the stove. Name's Sara. Sara Campbell. My husband, Jake, is the commanding officer at the RCMP outpost. You can tell him to come home for lunch after you make your report."

"Thank you, kindly, ma'am. I haven't eaten moose in quite some time. I'm sure Meg would love a hot meal and some pleasant conversation." Meg nodded shyly in agreement. They put on their gear and headed back out into the cold.

The RCMP station was the same as Fraser had remembered it. A few desks were scattered across one large room with an office, presumably for the commanding officer, off to one side. As soon as they entered the building, Meg transformed from her disguise as a shy but capable girlfriend back to Inspector Thatcher. "Good morning, gentlemen," she said to the men occupying three of the desks. "I'm Inspector Margaret Thatcher, and this is Constable Benton Fraser. We were sent by Toronto to track a fugitive from justice suspected of illegal information sharing, one James Endicott, and his trail has led us here. You, along with the other outposts within 200 km of Lafayette Valley airstrip should have received a memo detailing this assignment. I'd like to speak to your commanding officer immediately."

At the mention of her rank, all three of the men stood and snapped to attention. The oldest man, and she had to assume ranking officer, replied formally. "Yes, ma'am, Inspector Thatcher, but Sargent Campbell is out right now," he was about to continue when Meg interrupted him.

"Do you not have radios out here? Please call him in. Unless, of course, he is engaged in activities that supersede apprehending a federal fugitive."

"Yes, ma'am," the constable replied quickly, somewhat frightened. He had never met a female member of the Force with this much, well, force. The Dragon Lady claimed another victim.

"And to whom am I speaking?"

"Tremblay, ma'am. Constable Elias Tremblay."

"Thank you, Constable Tremblay. Dismissed." Tremblay wasn't quite sure where he was dismissed to, since they were standing at his desk, so after a moment hesitation, he sat down and continued the report he had been working on.

"The radio, Tremblay," Inspector Thatcher reminded him, her voice loaded with impatience with his perceived idiocy. "And we are trying to build a cover, so don't mention our names or rank over the radio."

"Understood, ma'am." He pulled moved quickly passed her and sat down at the radio desk, put on the headphones, and spoke into the microphone. "Sergent Campbell, this is Kivilut Post. Please come in. Repeat, Post to Campbell."

A few moments later, a voice crackled over the speakers and in Tremblay's headphones. "Campbell to Post. Proceed."

"Sargent, there is a woman here to see you. She says it's urgent." Fraser was amused to note that Tremblay had forgotten to mention him.

"What's this about, Constable? You know I'm busy here."

"Yes, sir. I…"

Inspector Thatcher took the microphone and spoke firmly. "Sargent, I expect you to return to Head Quarters at your earliest convenience." Her last word dripped with sarcasm. "Unless, that is, you are already addressing the memo from Ottawa you received four days ago."

"And to whom am I speaking?" The Sargent asked with annoyance.

"You will find out when you get here. Post out." The inspector handed the microphone back to Tremblay who placed it in its cradle on the radio desk. The other two Constables looked at each other and grinned. Someone was going to get chewed out, and it wasn't going to be either of them. Campbell v. Thatcher. Someone should sell tickets.

"Would you like to wait in the Sargent's office, Inspector?" Tremblay asked, with characteristic politeness. "And can I get you some coffee?"

"Yes, we will wait in Sargent Campbell's office, and no, coffee isn't necessary." Inspector Thatcher followed Tremblay to the only office with a door, walked in, and closed the door behind her. She took a seat in one of two visitor's chairs. She motioned Fraser to take the other one.

"No thank you, sir, I'd rather stand."

"And I'd rather not have to strain my neck to look at you when we are talking. Please, sit, Constable." Fraser sat down, but didn't say anything. He wasn't quite sure how to treat her after their time on the trail, so he reverted to their purely professional, yet extremely unsatisfying relationship. He waited for his superior officer to speak.

Meg, for her part, was also a bit uncomfortable. She didn't want to tell Fraser to leave the office, because she needed him to be present during the meeting with Sargent Campbell, but the silence was becoming strained.

"Fraser," she started.

"Yes, Inspector?" He replied before she was able to get another word out.

"Ah, do you think our cover is being accepted?"

"It's only been tested by three people so far and for only about 5 minutes, but yes, I think it's holding." He reverted back to his default setting: remaining in a state of readiness while waiting to be needed. Thatcher thought with some amusement that he was the only person she knew who could _sit_ at parade rest. She was about to try to make small talk when the Sargent, rather angry to be commanded to return to the post, barreled into his office.

Sargent Campbell was an older man, no less than 60, with a rugged hardiness that tells of years spend in the north. He was a tall, slightly taller than Fraser even, and had remained in shape despite his years. Although his greying hair was cut in a military cut, it was obvious by a few little curls behind his ears that it needed a trim. His brown field uniform was perfectly maintained, not a wrinkle or spot to be seen. He had smile lines around his mouth, which belied the stern expression that was currently displayed on his face.

Sargent Campbell stomped into his office and slammed the door behind him. Inspector Thatcher, always composed, stood up slowly, giving the Sargent a cool look that conveyed her disapproval with his actions. Fraser, however, snapped to attention out of respect for the senior officers. The Sargent looked at the two of them in their rumpled trail clothing. "This had better be good."

"It is." Thatcher said coolly.

"And you would be?" The Sargent asked impatiently.

"Inspector Margaret Thatcher, RCMP, Canadian Consulate, Chicago." She stopped to let her rank sink in. The Sargent softened slightly as he realized he was outranked. "This is Constable Fraser, also of the Chicago Consulate. We are here to track and observe, James Endicott, and root out his information sharing structure. You received a memo detailing this effort 4 days ago. I assume you have read it. We have reason to believe he has a contact somewhere in this community."

"Ah, yes, the 8719D memo. My outpost and I are at your disposal and will provide whatever assistance is necessary. May I ask about the particulars that brought you to Kivilut?"

Thatcher gave him an abbreviated version of the events of the previous days. "As Endicott and Akuliq believe us to have been disposed of by predators," she concluded, "Constable Fraser and I have found it necessary to take up alternate identities to explain our presence here. We are posing as a romantically involved couple, Benton Fraser and Meg Thatcher, no association with the RCMP, who hiked in from Vettison airstrip. The reason for this visit is for Benton to return to a childhood haunt and introduce Meg to the fond memories of his past. I believe you will find that Constable Fraser is thoroughly honest and trustworthy, but somewhat lacking in the area of deception. Luckily here for a few years as a child, so if we can exploit the memories of a few of the longtime residents of the community, it will further strengthen a cover that I, er, we expect to be challenged." Campbell listened with interest to the Inspector's speech, and looked at her with a new respect. Usually officers who made Inspector at a young age and given diplomatic postings were not up to the challenge of an extended wilderness assignment. It appeared that Inspector Thatcher did not fit the expected mold. Then he realized something.

"Fraser." He said the name and paused in thought. "You wouldn't be related to Bob and Caroline Fraser, would you?"

"Yes, actually. I am their son."

"I remember their time here fondly, Constable. Bob Fraser was a joy to work with. I was somewhat disappointed when they were stationed elsewhere. How are they doing? Is your Father still with the Force?"

"No. I'm afraid not, Sir. Both my parents have passed on, my mother shortly after we left here, and my Father more recently."

"I'm terribly sorry, Constable. They were both well liked in the community. I'm sure you will find a few old folks that remember them, and you."

"That's what we are hoping, Sir. Unfortunately I have reason to believe that one of the people I respected as a child, Mr. Paul Akuliq, is involved with Endicott.

"That's a serious accusation. Akuliq is now an elder with the local Inuit population. Are you absolutely sure of his involvement?"

"Yes, I witnessed his attempted murder of Inspector Thatcher when he and Endicott, ah, ambushed us." Fraser absent-mindedly rubbed his eyebrow with his thumb. He was still a bit embarrassed that he had allowed them to be ambushed in the first place.

"I'll let the rest of the post to be aware of any suspicious activity on the part of Akuliq and to be on the lookout for Endicott. Inspector, do you wish us to apprehend either of them should the opportunity present itself?"

"At this point, no. Ottawa is more interested in determining any additional contacts and rooting out their whole operation." That drew the Sargent's interest.

"Any ideas on what this operation would be, Inspector?"

Inspector Thatcher considered for a moment keeping Campbell in the dark out of spite for his treatment of her earlier, but in the end dedication to the mission outweighed any personal satisfaction she would gain from such an immature action. "Endicott escaped from a prison transfer and is suspected in unlawful information exchange with certain potential adversaries of Canada. Constable Fraser and I were tasked with tracking Endicott and determining whether to simply observe him or bring him back in. If your men notice any strangers, especially those of foreign decent or any seen with Endicott or Akuliq , that information may prove valuable."

"So Endicott is a spy." Campbell restated.

"In a manner of speaking. We suspect that he is the connection between the source of the information and those who want to purchase it."

Sargent paused to take in this information. Then he changed the subject to what he was doing just when he was interrupted to answer Inspector Thatcher's summons . "By the way, what's this I hear from a few of my hunting buddies about a new couple arriving in town on foot? It seems they have already made friends with the wife of the RCMP post commander." He raised his eyebrows and looked at them over his wireframe glasses. "John says the woman is rather attractive and that it's too bad she is so obviously taken." He looked at Thatcher with a twinkle in his eye and watched a very faint blush rise up the inspector's neck. Fraser continued to stand unmoving at parade rest as was his usual behavior when surrounded by superior officers, but Campbell detected a slight rise in the constable's heart rate. _This could prove quite interesting,_ the amateur matchmaker thought to himself. _Can't let them know that I'm on to them, though. That would spoil the fun. _

The inspector quickly swallowed and sunk back deep into her protective Ice Queen persona. "Our cover, Sargent." She explained flatly. "We couldn't exactly waltz in and announce ourselves and who we were looking for. It seemed like the easiest way for two people to explain a sudden appearance." She quickly and succinctly explained the rest of their cover. "You should probably send a couple of officers out to The Rocks to 'investigate' this predator mauling, since that's what we were supposed to be here reporting. It is imperative that we keep this cover tight. Please instruct your subordinates not to mention anything to anyone. Anyone, Sargent, even closest family. Especially closest family. That goes for you, too."

"That may be difficult seeing as what my wife has planned." He spoke to himself, "But never mind that. I'll let her explain herself later. Oh, and no need to tell me about lunch. Frieda over at the general store already called me. Please tell Sara I'll be home at the usual time."

He looked at both younger Mounties' bewildered expressions and answered their unspoken question. "News travels fast around here. That can be an advantage or a problem, depending on how you handle it. Now, if I may, Inspector, I have some paperwork that needs to be done, and some personnel to," he cleared his throat, "reassign."

"Of course, Sargent. We will see you at lunch." As soon as Inspector Thatcher acknowledged him he sat down and began his task. Thatcher opened the office door, and she and Fraser walked back out to get their winter gear. She could hear the Sargent call his three constables into the office to relay her instructions. So far things were going pretty well.


	10. Chapter 10: Enjoying the View

Disclaimer: I don't claim ownership, and I'm not making money of this, so please don't hit me with a lawsuit.

"And of course you will stay with us while you are here in Kivilut." Sara Campbell said as she placed another sandwich on Fraser's plate, and offered Meg more soup. "Since our children moved out, we have more space than we know what to do with. Our spare room never gets used. If you could be so kind as to add a bit of wood to the pile now and again that would be a big help, Benton." She leaned over to Fraser on whose plate she had just placed a second moose and cheese sandwich and whispered, "Jake isn't as young as he used to be. Chopping all that wood is starting to bother his back, but he won't hire one of the young boys to do it for him."

"I heard that, dear," Sargent Campbell said from the other side of the table.

"Of course you did," Sara replied with a smile.

Meg thought they had probably had that same two-line conversation several times a day for their entire married lives. It was sweet, and they were obviously happy, although she could never see herself in Sara's shoes, a happy wife taking care of her husband. The irony was not wasted on her that her cover was a woman likely on the path to become just that.

"Meg," Sara asked, "Can you give me a hand in the kitchen?"

Meg groaned to herself. She hated doing dishes. One of the reasons she became so focused on her career was so that she could pay someone else do things like dishes. _I bet Sara will even have an extra apron, _she thought unhappily to herself. "Of course, Sara. I'd be happy to help." Meg got up from her place, grabbed her plate and glass, and glared at Fraser for the simple reason that he didn't have to do dishes.

That afternoon, Jake Campbell went back to the RCMP outpost, leaving Meg and Fraser with Sara, who only worked mornings at the post office. Sara insisted on taking them around and introducing them to the town. From the trip, Meg gathered that they had not only found one of the biggest town gossips, but were living with her. Meg hated having to play her "pretty little Meg" role, but had to admit to herself, that she rather enjoyed being able to hang on Fraser's arm or have his arm around her. It worked unimaginably better at getting rid of Fraser's female fans than a Dragon Lady glare ever had. After they had been introduced at the general store, the town's one restaurant/bar, and three of Sara's friends' homes, Meg found she was adapting to the role of Fraser's girlfriend quite naturally.

Fraser, on the other hand, struggled each time they had to put on their "Ben and Meg" faces. He didn't like deception, although he agreed it was necessary, and he feared that his ineptitude at acting would give them away. He was always unsure how he fit in, whether to lead or follow. Meg was still his superior officer, but his role in their cover as travel guide indicated that he lead. He was grateful that Sara Campbell had taken her job as small town tour guide so seriously. He didn't react when the women that Sara introduced him to looking him over appreciatively. He was used to that. He did find it amusing though, that Meg seemed to notice. Each time a good looking woman started to give him the eye, Meg would move in closer to him, grab his hand, or do something else to mark her territory. He was pretty sure that she didn't even realize she was doing it. Of course, he had to admit, he did the same thing when Meg was the subject of male scrutiny and appreciation.

As the sun sank in the sky, Sara, Meg, and Fraser returned to the Campbell home to prepare dinner and put their things away. There wasn't much to put away. A spare set of clothes and long johns for each of them, several pairs of socks, and some of Meg's undergarmets that Fraser tried not to notice. He regretfully started to blush when she pulled them out and he got a quick glimpse of pink lace. He quickly turned back to the pack, but found it empty, so he busied himself tucking it under the bed.

Meg had just finished arranging her things when she heard Fraser walk quickly toward her. She turned toward him and was astonished when he wrapped his arms firmly around her, and pulled her to close to him, almost crushing her against his chest.

"What are you doing Constable?" Meg, startled, whispered quietly in Fraser's ear.

Fraser moved a lock of hair behind her ear and murmured, "Solidifying our cover, sir, and you probably shouldn't call me that with Sara right outside our door."

"How do you know she is there?" She put her arms around Fraser to show her trust in his assessment of the situation even before he explained his reasoning. She felt the muscles in his back and shoulders move under her hands as his hands moved to rest around her waist.

Meg felt more than heard his answer as his voice rumbled into her hair. "The sound of footsteps coming from the kitchen indicate someone wearing soft-soled shoes, ladies size 8, approximately 69 kg, walking on a wood floor at pace slower than would be expected from Sara's 160 cm height. She must be unsure whether to intrude on what she thinks we are doing. Better confirm her suspicions."

"I agree." Meg said rather breathlessly, as Fraser took one hand from her waist and moved to stroke her hair. He raised her chin up so he could look down into her eyes. He leaned down slowly to kiss her, but before they could complete the kiss, there was a knock on the door and it slowly opened.

Fraser and Meg jumped apart just as Sara turned around to avoid seeing them in such intimate contact. Sara at least had the manners to pretend to be surprised at what she walked in on. "I'm so sorry, Ben, Meg. I should have known…"

"It's ok, Sara." Fraser answered sheepishly. "We should have come down immediately after we finished unpacking. I tend to become a little… distracted where Meg is concerned." This whole using the truth as a cover was working quite well for him. He shrugged apologetically and reached for Meg's hand. "Is now a good time to get started on the wood pile?"

"Of course. There should be enough light left to get started." Sara said, glad to be given a way out of an embarrassing situation. Of course they didn't need to be checked on. She didn't know what she was thinking barging in on young lovers in a bedroom, even if they were supposed to be unpacking. She began to walk back down the hallway when she heard Meg's timid voice again.

"Is there somewhere I can take a bath or a shower? We have been camping for the last three days, and now that we are around other people, I feel the need to be cleaner than I can get with melted snow and a washrag." Especially if she was going to get that close to Fraser on a regular basis.

"Of course," Sara answered pleasantly, "How silly of me not to offer sooner. We only have a shower inside, no bath tub, and the hot water is limited. The shower is fine if you just want to get clean, but if you want to soak, I strongly recommend visiting the hot pools up on Bald Face Mountain. The local Inuits believe that there are spirits waiting to reveal themselves to bathers who can stand the heat of the pools." Sara got a glint in her eye and continued. "There is even a couple's pool. Maybe you two should go up there one evening. The northern lights are beautiful this time of year.

"Now, Benton, let's see about getting you started on that wood pile. Meg, help yourself to whatever soap and shampoo you find. Towels are in the cabinet under the sink." Sara indicated the bathroom behind the only closed door in the hallway and lead Fraser away to the other end of the house.

Meg got into the shower and let the hot water rinse over her. She hadn't realized how cold she was until she the hot water hit her. She quickly washed and rinsed her hair, and used the lavender scented soap she found by the sink to wash the trail dirt off her body. She knew she shouldn't linger in the shower, but she allowed herself a few extra moments to try to wash away the residual sensations of Fraser's hands on her. Of course, being naked in the shower didn't exactly help with that.

Meg reluctantly got out of the shower, and toweled off with an amazingly soft towel. She turned to get dressed and realized that she had forgotten to bring a clean set of clothes with her. With a sigh of dismay, she wrapped the tower back around her, peeked out the door, and when she was sure that nobody was coming, she ran back to her room and shut the door. She was about to drop the towel, when she heard her name spoken.

She turned around to find Fraser was sitting on the bed, looking intently down at the work boots he was lacing up. "I didn't think you would be finished so quickly," he said deliberately staring at his boots. "It's much more difficult to chop wood in boots made for slugging through snow. You see, the sole of a snow boot was designed primarily for insulation and support for walking, but does not give the same support that a work boot does for stability. The upper of a snow boot was also designed for insulation and ankle support while using snow shoes. Work boots don't need either of those, and can devote more design space to mobility and ease of motions other than simple walking. Sargent Campbell and I happen to wear the same size shoe. Sara said I could borrow a pair of his work boots." Fraser had finished lacing his boots, but was still looking down at them, obviously embarrassed at the sight of his superior officer in a towel.

Meg noticed the back of his neck turning red, and had to quickly smother a smile. She found this rather humorous, but decided to take pity on him. "I'll just grab some clothes and go the bathroom to change."

"No." Fraser said quickly. Meg stopped short.

"That would not be in line with our cover." He said still looking at his boots. "I'll just turn and face the corner while you dress." Fraser managed to get up and walk to the farthest corner without looking at her. He stood facing the wall with this nose almost touching the wallboards. He could smell the cedar planks and the latex paint. He tried to concentrate on those smells instead of the lavender that assailed his nose when Meg ran into the room. He tried not to remember how wonderful she looked with her hair wet and only finger combed. He tried not to remember the way her legs extended from beneath the too short, but not nearly short enough, towel. He tried to forget her bare arms and shoulders, well-muscled from regular workouts in the gym. He tried to forget, but he couldn't. Instead he just reminded himself that to take any actions with regards to his feelings for Meg would cause more harm than good in the long run.

It felt like an eternity before Meg told Fraser that she was decent. She was wearing trail clothes, lined jeans and a sweater, but he thought she looked beautiful. Much better than her usual business suits.

They paused in the middle of the room, each trying to think of something to say.

"I'd better go…" Fraser said indicating the general direction of the wood pile.

"Yes, I guess you should…" Meg still stood between him and the door.

Fraser stepped to the left to go around her just as she stepped to the right to let him pass, ending up nose to nose. They both stepped back to give the other the right of way. Their unchoreographed dance continued until they finally stepped out of each other's way. Fraser continued to the wood pile. Meg sat down on the bed to try to rein her runaway thoughts. Inventing a relationship between them as a cover seemed like a good idea at the time, but this was turning out more challenging than she had imagined.

Meg took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She had done difficult things in the past, taken on tasks that challenged her both mentally and physically. She was certainly up to an emotional challenge of this magnitude. She had trained for this. Well, not for this, exactly, but for many other types of situations that required one to put logic and necessity over other, lesser things. There was no reason she could not act this part. She would just have to distance herself emotionally from Fraser whenever they were alone. She could do that. She was good at that.

When Meg was done giving herself her little pep talk, she walked into the living room to see if she could help Sara out with dinner or some other chore. She found her hostess in the kitchen chopping vegetables. Sara's kitchen was a warm, inviting place, with lots of windows positioned so that they looked out over the back yard, and what Meg suspected was a flower garden in the summer. The pale yellow walls and white cabinets brightened up the small room, keeping it from feeling cramped. A few framed photographs of flowers and vases filled with kitchen utensil made up the simple décor.

"Anything I can help you with, Sara?" Meg said as she prayed that Sara wouldn't take her up on her offer.

"Sure, Meg. Marge over at the general store got a case of tomatoes from down south cheap, so I'm making and freezing pasta sauce. Can you get started chopping these onions? Finely chopped, but not quite minced." Of course it had to be onions. Meg hated chopping onions almost as much as she hated washing dishes. It was mostly because onions made her cry, and even more than doing dishes, Meg hated crying. Crying showed weakness, and a woman who wishes to rise in the ranks of the RCMP can under no circumstance show weakness. Even when chopping onions.

Reluctantly, she took the chef's knife and chopping board Sara handed her and positioned herself next to the onions on the counter. She started chopping, and had to stop after only a few slices to get a break from the onion fumes. When she felt the need to tear up waning, she started chopping again, but the irritation in her eyes didn't stay away long.

Sara noticed her guest's troubles, and didn't say a word until Meg had slowly chopped the first two onions, stopping frequently to wipe her eyes. Sara didn't want to seem bossy, but she needed those onions done faster. "Meg, dear, if you run the onions halves under cold water just before chopping them finer, it cuts down on the release of fumes. No more onion tears."

_Seriously? _Meg thought. _It's that simple?_ One more thing that she should have learned from her mother, but she couldn't ever remember them cooking together. Her mother had never been interested in teaching Meg any kind of domestic arts, and Meg hadn't been interested in learning. They both had preferred to teach Meg the things she needed to escape what she considered drudgery. Take the clothes to the cleaners and eat take-out when there wasn't time to go to a nice restaurant. She knew enough to get by when these services weren't available, but she had never taken the time to learn the little tips and tricks that make domestic tasks easier.

"So where are you from, Meg," Sara asked, hoping to engage Meg in conversation. She wanted to find out a little bit more about her two houseguests. And she was sure that Marge at the general store and Eleanor down the street would be aching for details. Meg was such a pretty little thing, and Ben wasn't bad to look at either. Not bad at all. In fact, if Meg hadn't been around and obviously staking her claim, she knew several young women that would have been happy to give him a warm place to stay.

"I'm from Toronto." Meg answered. When her eyes finally cleared, she started attacking the next onion slowly but steadily.

"Toronto, do you say? How did you end up here?" Meg knew she had to give enough detail to be believable, but not so much that Fraser would find himself caught up in keeping their cover story strait. The truth seemed the safest option.

"Ben and I work in the same building. He ran errands, and I helped write reports. We ran into each other from time to time. The first time I saw Ben I wanted to hate him because he seemed too perfect. He was always going out of the way to help somebody, but I always had to clean up the mess and explain to the higher-ups what was going on. Every time we crossed paths, it made more work for me. But after a while, I realized that even though he often does things that seem unexplainable to the rest of the world, they always make sense to him, and somehow everything turns out alright in the end. We started seeing each other outside of work, and eventually we became close. Very close." Meg paused to pretend to hide a little blush.

"Ben is always telling stories of the North and they intrigued me. I wanted to see these things for myself, and see if I could handle the environment that Ben loves the most. I mentioned it to Ben, and a week later, here we are. So far, I love it, too." Meg finished chopping the last onion just as she finished this little speech.

"What next Sara?" Meg was almost enjoying this. Seeing that pile of chopped onions grow gave Meg a strange sense of accomplishment that giving orders and writing reports never had. It didn't hurt that she could smell the delicious scent of the onions and garlic that Sara was sautéing on the stove. Dinner was going to taste really good tonight!

"Um, how about washing and tearing lettuce for the salad? Just enough for the four of us." Sara said. She enjoyed having someone to help in the kitchen. Things got done so much faster, and it was nice not to be alone in the afternoon..

Meg brought the lettuce over to the sink and started rinsing it off. The ice cold water started to hurt her hands, but she knew better than to waste hot water just for her personal comfort. When she had washed half the head of lettuce, she put the rest back in the refrigerator and began to tear the washed lettuce leaves into little pieces. Since she was not using a knife and didn't need to watch her hands all the time, she raised her head to peer out the window. She was greeted with a delicious sight: Fraser in his jeans and undershirt chopping wood.

The garden where he was chopping sat in a corner made where the house butted against the garage. Two large evergreen trees covered a third side, sheltering it well from the wind. He must have gotten warm from the effort because his jacket and flannel shirt lay forgotten by the side of the garage. Although the temperature during this, the warmest part of the day couldn't have been much above freezing, he looked as if he was starting to sweat from the effort.

Meg watched as he positioned a 30 cm log vertically and tapped the ax so it stuck into the end of the log. He lifted the ax with the log still attached and swung them in a arc to one side and behind him until they were high above his head, almost as high as his arms could reach. The he used the muscles in his whole body to slam the ax and log down onto the chopping block in front of him. Meg could see the muscles in his back and arms contract with the effort. She stood mesmerized as the log hit the ground and split neatly in two. Fraser bent to pick up the larger of the two pieces to split it again. Meg had to close her eyes and control her breathing as his jeans tightened across his rear end. Red serge was nothing compared to this.

"Nice view, isn't it?" Sara said with a wink and a sly smile. "I used to love watching my Jake do this very same thing when we were younger. Not so much fun watching now, since I know his back hurts him every time he swings he ax. You got yourself a good one, Meg. Knows how to work, and looks good doing it!"

Meg only wished that Fraser was "her Ben." She knew that once they completed this mission, this would have to stop. She would not join the ranks of RCMP officers who oogled subordinates across the office. She had been that junior officer often enough, and would never do that to anyone, especially someone she cared for and respected.

Meg stopped short at that thought. Did she really care for Fraser, other than as a junior officer that she was responsible for? She wanted to say no, but it is hard to lie to oneself. She couldn't say she only cared as a friend, because friends don't oogle friend's backsides, or have their hearts speed up when they are near. And friends certainly don't share kisses on top of trains, kisses so powerful that neither notices that they came within centimeters of hitting a wooden bridge.

No, Meg decided. There was something else there, but, for the life of her she didn't know what it was or how to deal with it. The only thing she could do was ignore it, and hope that it would go away.

No. She couldn't honestly do that either. She would have to figure out how to put some distance between herself and Fraser. For the good of this mission. For the good of her career.

Of course, she wasn't sure how she was going to manage that with Fraser always looking so delectable.

A/N: This is the last chapter I have completely written, so further chapters may take a little while coming. Reviews are great, either positive or critical. Positive gives me warm fuzzies, critical shows me how to improve.


	11. Chapter 11: Emotional Distancing

A/N: My apologies that this story is taking forever to post. The story seems to have stalled in my brain, and although I have a few scenes here and there written, nothing beyond this chapter is complete. I usually like to stay a chapter or two ahead of what I'm posting, but I've sat on this one for a few weeks already. Time to suck it up and post. Any suggestion on where you want to see this story go would be most welcome. Maybe my brain just needs a swift kick.

* * *

Fraser had chopped and stacked wood until the wood rack was filled and cleaned up before dinner, which was as delicious as Meg had hoped it would be. After dinner, Meg and Fraser sat around the fireplace talking with Jake and Sara until Fraser noticed Meg stifling a yawn, her eyes drooping. Meg found it easy to relax into Fraser's side, much too easy. She knew she should not let herself enjoy this physical closeness, but there was really no help for it. Why did he have to smell so good? _No, Inspector_. She gave herself her rank as a reminder of who she thought she was._ You are stronger than this. It's just pheromones, chemicals. You are above this._ Even if she wanted to, Meg knew, she couldn't start her intended emotional distancing quite yet. She was well aware that Sara was watching them as intently as was polite. Sara was the key to maintaining their cover, and if she saw any chink in it, she would pick at it until all was exposed, telling her friends every last detail. If their cover remained solid for Sara, then the whole town would believe it.

Well. Since her attraction to Fraser had caused some rather awkward moments during their official duties, it might as well be put to good use now. She snuggled closer into Fraser and nuzzled his shoulder. When he reached out and took her hand, she let her thumb rub over his fingers. _Must. Not. Enjoy. This._

For his part, Fraser tried not to react to Meg's snuggling. It felt comfortable to be with her, and he slipped his arm around her shoulders. He had to remind himself that she was not really this warm, soft woman he held close to him. She was the serious, focused, RCMP inspector he had seen in action just that morning. He suspected she was capable of being both, but that was her choice to make, not his.

Fraser used their long journey as an excuse to head to their room a bit earlier than would be expected. He figured both he and Meg should take the time to rest while they could do so in comfort.

As soon as the bedroom door was shut behind them, Meg turned to her junior officer and said seriously, "Fraser, we need to talk."

"Talk, sir?" She didn't correct him and make him use her first name. Emotional distancing step 1: reinforce professional boundaries.

"Yes, Fraser, I..." She had wasn't sure what she wanted to say exactly, and was saved by Fraser interrupting her.

"Excuse me, sir." Fraser said as he stepped towards Meg. He grabbed her waist and tickled her ribs, making her let out a surprised shriek and then a giggle. In response she gave him a glare that would have driven icicles through anyone else. She blamed him entirely for forcing her to make such an undignified noise. RMCP inspectors did NOT giggle.

Fraser walked over to the bed, sat down gently and bounced, testing the strength of the bed and the frame. He then got up, jumped as high as he could, pulled his legs up and landed on the bed cross legged. He swung his arms to bounce a few times, then put one finger over his lips to indicate that her silence would be appreciated.

"What are you doing?!" Meg said in an exasperated whisper. Fraser stood and motioned for her to come closer.

"Improving our cover." Fraser answered in the lowest tones he could and still be heard. Meg had to lean in close to him to be able to hear. She was almost up against his chest. "I have gathered from my observations of Sara Campbell that she has a strong propensity for, ah, information gathering but is otherwise a decent and respectful woman. It is highly likely that our hostess will have come up with some excuse to pay us a visit and may be listening at the door to see what we are doing. If she thinks we are acting, um," he gestured towards the now wrumpled bed, "licentiously, her embarrassment at witnessing such an intimate moment, even only through sound, will encourage her to leave the hallway, giving us more privacy for our discussion."

"Or we could just pretend to go to sleep."

"Yes, of course. I had assumed that you would like to begin our discussion as soon as possible and be absolutely sure of our eavesdropper's departure.

"Well, yes." Meg had to agree with his reasoning. She crossed her arms and sighed in resignation. "Proceed. But please try to keep it short."

"Sir, may I…?" Fraser looked at her, then at the bed.

"May you what?" As an answer, he put one arm around her back and leaned down to sweep her knees up with the other arm. He picked her up and tossed her on the bed. She let out another surprised squeak as she scrambled across the bed, in case Fraser had a mind to follow her onto it. Instead he walked over to the headboard, grabbed the post, and shook it a little. It tapped rhythmically against the wall, just loud enough for someone outside the room to hear, but not enough to disturb the whole house.

They heard a thump outside their door as if something soft had been placed none too gently on the ground, quickly followed by footsteps rapidly leaving the hallway. Fraser's plan had succeeded beautifully.

"You had something you wanted to discuss, sir?" At the sound of footsteps, they both had stopped what they were doing, and now stood with characteristic perfect posture.

"Yes, Fraser." She got off the bed and tried to smooth her clothes back into place in hopes that the action would also smooth her nerves. It didn't. "We need to discuss this mission and our roles in it." Emotional distancing step 2: focus on the mission, ignore the extraneous.

"Of course."

"Fraser, I really think that we..." He looked at her expectantly. "That you and I are... that we have established our cover quite well. It appears to me that we can, ah, proceed with the original mission first thing in the morning."

"Of course, sir. Sargent and Mrs. Campbell will both be at work, giving us the necessary time to investigate. I think that we should take tomorrow morning to visit the Inuit side of the village. My father spent considerable time with them when he was stationed here, and held them in the utmost regard. Jon Akuliq, Paul's son, and I were the same age, we spent much of our free time together the last winter my family was here. My mother would teach us to read from classic English literature, and his mother would tell us the legends of the Inuit. I learned much that winter, more from his mother than from my own, I'm afraid. In particular, I learned that rendered seal fat serves a variety of purposes including..."

"Enough, Fraser. Stay focused."

"Yes, ma'am. I would like to presume upon my childhood association with the Akuliqs and pay them a visit."

"Agreed, Fraser. Perhaps we can finally learn something that would be of use to this investigation instead of parading around this backwoods town like a couple of tourists."

* * *

The room was dark, with the embers in the fireplace giving them barely enough light to see by. Sara crawled into the warm bed next to her husband. He had gotten bed first and warmed up her side before rolling over to his own, as he had done every night since they were first married. It was just one of the sweet things he did for her. And just as she always did, she leaned over to give him a quick kiss on his cheek in thanks. Sara pulled up the covers and closed her eyes, but could not sleep.

"Jake?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Do you think our guests are comfortable? I gave them extra blankets."

"Sara, they have been sleeping in an igloo for the last few nights in zero degree conditions. I'm sure they are doing just fine." He smiled to himself, guessing that Inspector Thatcher and Constable Fraser would be struggling to keep their distance. Like his wife, he was a keen observer of human nature, and he had made a hobby of inferring what was going on in the minds of his friends and acquaintances and guessing their next actions. It was something that had helped him move up in the ranks of the RCMP. He was able to use his guesses to improve strained relations, provide for the requests of his superiors before they even asked, and in his later assignments, help his subordinates do their jobs without feeling micromanaged. Unlike his wife, however, Jake usually kept his observations to himself.

Jake was in a unique position to see both sides of their two visitors: Ben and Meg, and Fraser and Thatcher. After having first met them, he assumed that they would have a bit of trouble maintaining their cover. He had noticed an obvious attraction between them, which intrigued him, but their positions quite obviously kept them apart. He guessed that they had been so used to squashing any emotional involvement that they would have a difficult time letting it show. He knew the regulations against fraternization as well as they did. That was why he introduced them to his wife. He knew she would invite the newcomers to stay with them, and he wanted to be able to keep an eye on them. If their cover wasn't rock solid Sara would be the first to suspect, and he would have a chance to smooth it over before it was all over town. So far, though, they had behaved like any couple newly in love. _Interesting_, he though, _that a man whose superior officer recognizes him as a slave to the truth isn't having any trouble at all living a lie. Unless it isn't a lie at all._ Although he had sensed some attraction between them back at the outpost, but he hadn't suspected it ran this deep until now. He wondered if Inspector Thatcher had made that connection yet.

"Jake?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Why do you think Ben and Meg aren't married yet?"

"Sara, that's really none of our business." He knew that Sara hated that phrase. In her mind, everything was her business.

"They are obviously in love, and I heard them… oh never mind."

"Sara," Jake said quietly, "Marriage isn't in everyone's life plan. Maybe they don't want to get married." _Or maybe they just can't,_ Jake thought to himself.


End file.
